A Story for a Stark
by holyleonardodicaprio
Summary: A series of one shots exploring the growing relationship between Sansa and Tyrion. Set between Seasons 3 and 4.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: _I own nothing that belongs to George R. R. Martin

* * *

**A Story for a Stark**

Sighing, Tyrion Lannister shut what felt like the fiftieth book he had looked at that morning. His short legs were just beginning to cramp as he shuffled uncomfortably on his stool. Behind him, Bronn groaned loudly.

"You know, for someone who never stops reading, you would've thought you'd be able to find a bloody book you were interested in by now." He complained, with all of his usual blunt honesty.

"I'm not looking for a book for myself" Tyrion muttered.

"Who, then? Don't tell me that whore of yours likes a good classic?"

Tyrion wiped his brow impatiently. He was beginning to wish he'd asked Podrick to accompany him to the library instead, if only it had meant peace and quiet.

"I'm searching for a gift for Sansa's nameday." He replied, as he set down a particularly heavy golden-colored book entitled _Wars Beyond The Wall. _He doubted that would interest his lady wife much at all.

What would interest her?_ You know nothing about your own wife, _Tyrion thought to himself bitterly.

"Most women would be perfectly happy with a nice trinket for a gift" Bronn laughed.

"Perhaps" Tyrion countered, "But Lady Sansa is not most women."

Besides, he added to himself, reading might take her mind away from the horrors that had plagued King's Landing of Late; the horrors that had come to exist due to Tyrion's own father.

He had almost given up searching when his blunt fingers grasped a thick, emerald green volume from the high shelf. _Ser Amos and the Knights of Winterfell, _it was called.

This was the very thing Tyrion had been looking for. A long book, full of rhymes and songs, Tyrion could recall being enthralled with Ser Amos' tale as a young boy. Sansa was no young child, but perhaps the illustrations of Winterfell might remind her of home, Tyrion thought. _Perhaps it might make her despise you even more, _another smaller part of his brain insisted.

Pushing away his doubts, Tyrion held the book tightly in his arms as he clambered down awkwardly from the stool. Bronn looked up, relief spreading across his face.

"Well I hope that was worth it," He said "I thought I was being paid to protect you."

"You are" Tyrion grumbled.

* * *

It was midafternoon when Tyrion reached the chambers he shared with his young wife. He didn't doubt that he'd find her there, she had been spending more and more of her time alone after hearing of the deaths of her brother and mother. There had been several occasions when Tyrion had wanted to reach out to her; to touch her shoulder; to offer her more than a small smile; anything to somehow reassure her that she was not quite alone in the world. Each time he looked into her icy-cold blue eyes, however, something inside him stopped him. _You are a Lannister, _he scolded himself, _she does not want your comfort, she is disgusted by you._

Tyrion rapped his knuckles sharply three times against the heavy oak door. At first no reply came, and Tyrion thought that perhaps his wife had fallen asleep. Just as he began to walk away, the door opened slightly. Turning back, Tyrion pushed it and let himself into their chambers. Sansa Stark sat at the window seat that overlooked the bay. Her eyes were cool and unyielding as she turned to face him.

"Good afternoon, Sansa"

"Good afternoon, my Lord"

Tyrion flinched slightly. How many times had he asked for her to call him by his first name? Yet he did not want to push her, in fear that she somehow slipped through his fingers and out of reach. He shuffled awkwardly towards his wife, and placed the thick volume on the desk close to where she sat.

He cleared his throat slightly, "A gift my lady, for your fifteenth name day."

Sansa looked round suddenly, her Tully eyes unusually full of surprise.

"My name day" She whispered quietly, more to herself than to him. It was almost as though she had forgotten.

"Yes, I do hope this will suffice. Ser Amtos and the Knights of Winterfell. It was a favorite of mine during my time at Casterly Rock."

Tyrion looked up at his wife, unsure of how to read her expression. He was filled with the unfamiliar sensation of worry. Despite his usual nature, Tyrion Lannister was desperate to please Sansa; to somehow make her smile.

"If you don't like it, you are more than welcome to take any other books you please from the library" He tried…

"No" Sansa said quietly. Her long fingers brushed delicately over the cover, and Tyrion thought he saw the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

"Thank you, my Lor- Tyrion."

He smiled in return, a genuine smile, for what felt like the first time in weeks. No, in months.

"I'm afraid I have a meeting with the small council now, but I will return to join you for supper, Lady Sansa."

In a flash, her familiar courtesies returned.

"If it pleases you, my Lord."

Tyrion's scarred mouth twitched, and he nodded before turning away and leaving Sansa Stark alone once again.

* * *

It was not till much later that evening that Tyrion returned. He cursed himself, and his father, for holding such a long meeting with the small council. There was only so much of Varys and Cersei that he could handle in one sitting, particularly the latter. He felt a pang of guilt for breaking his promise to join Sansa for dinner. On the other hand, perhaps it would have been what she preferred.

Reaching their chambers, Tyrion was immediately surprised by what he saw. The room was dark, save for the warm glow of a single candle at the large desk. Bent over the desk was Sansa. Moving slowly toward her, Tyrion saw that she was leaning over an open book, her eyes shut tight and her bright auburn hair spread across the smooth pages. Tyrion quickly realized it was the same book he had gifted her with earlier – Ser Amtos and the Knights of Winterfell.

Though his limbs ached and his scarred nose was sore, Tyrion felt far more content than he had done in weeks. He closed the door gently behind him, so as not to disturb his sleeping wife. She looked strangely at peace whilst she slept. In the light of the flickering candle her face was strikingly beautiful. The soft rays of light highlighted her cheekbones and made her Tully red hair appear as though it were aflame. Tyrion waddled to the bed and removed the soft blanket that lay at the foot of it. Taking care to move as slowly as possible, he wrapped the blanket around Sansa's shoulders. She had liked his gift. It was a start, Tyrion thought, as he undressed himself and slid into their marital bed. Perhaps he could ease his wife's unhappiness, even if only through small gestures.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ This was relatively short, but I just wanted to try out writing some Sansa x Tyrion. I know it's likely a doomed ship *sighs* but I can't help but think that they'd been compatible which other, and could at least find a friend in each other. Let me know if you have any thoughts/questions, and I apologize if either Sansa, Tyrion or Bronn seemed out of character.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own anything associated with Game of Thrones _

* * *

**Sansa**

The sun was bright in the sky when Sansa finally woke. She shifted comfortably in bed, happy to bathe in the rays of light that were flickering through her bedroom window. _Our bedroom window,_ Sansa reminded herself. Beside her, the bed was empty and the sheets showed no sign of her husband's small frame. She was not surprised, as Tyrion stayed up until the late hours of the night, and woke well before the sun rose. In fact, Sansa could not recall the last time she had woken to find him next to her. Her marriage was not at all how she had imagined.

As a young girl Sansa had dreamt of the joy marriage would bring. All she had ever wanted was to be someone's wife: to birth beautiful children; to wake next to her Lord husband; to feel his loving kisses. _What a stupid girl,_ Sansa thought. It made her stomach turn to think of how blissfully happy she had been that cold morning in Winterfell, when the King and Joffrey had first arrived. She wished she could go back, back to Winterfell, back to the North. But there was no good wishing; wishing would never take her back home. Sansa sighed deeply, running her hands through her thick, auburn hair. She sat up slightly, and watched the calm blue waters of the bay. _Perhaps if I just lie here, I won't have to speak to anyone._

A sharp rap at the door clearly meant the gods had other plans for her that day. Sansa groaned, sliding down the bed and burying her head under the covers. _I'm not here, I'm not here, please don't talk to me…_

"Sansa?" Shae's voice came from the other side of the thick, oak door

Sansa grumbled and forced herself to respond, "You can come in."

The door opened, and her handmaiden entered. Shae's dark eyes surveyed the room, and hovered over Sansa curled beneath the sheets.

"You need to get up, m'lady. Should I bring one of your dresses?"

"Why, what's happening?"

"It's the king, m'lady. There's a tourney this afternoon, being held in the honor of his wedding."

"Am I required to attend?"

Sansa felt sick. Once the prospect of a tourney would have filled her with joy. All those beautiful knights in their beautiful armor. Sansa recalled the tournament she had watched when they had first come to King's Landing. It had been hot that day too, Sansa could remember, the day that Loras Tyrell had given her a beautiful red rose. How different she had been then-a different girl, with different dreams.

Shae's insisting voice dragged her from her thoughts, "Yes, m'lady. You are to attend, Lord Tyrion will be there."

Of course he would. Tyrion would be there, and Cersei, and Joffrey. The thought of Joffrey's smug face made her sick. Surely Joffrey wouldn't think to torment her again, in front of all those people? _No_, Sansa reassured herself, _you know that will not stop him._ Joffrey did not fear others; the court had been packed that day when he had ordered his guards to attack her. Joffrey was many things, but he was not afraid to torment her.

As if reading her thoughts, Shae moved toward her. She settled herself on the bed beside Sansa, and looked at her reassuringly. "You are strong, m'lady." She said, "Would you like to me to do your hair?"

Sansa nodded gratefully, and tried to press the thoughts of Joffrey from her mind. She sat in front of her looking glass, and peered at the girl staring back at her. Behind her, Shae studied her attentively, before running her hands through Sansa's hair. She began to braid, in one of the styles Shae had once said came from Lorath, in the Free Cities. Watching her reflection in the glass, Sansa thought she might weep. The feeling of Shae's soft hands working at her hair reminded Sansa of when her mother had braided her hair back at Winterfell. Sansa had always thought it was a pain when her handmaidens fussed over her, yet when her mother spent time on her hair it had always overwhelmed her with joy.

"You look sad, m'lady. What are you thinking of?"

Sansa looked up, "Shae… you shouldn't pry"

"It is sometimes good to pry" Shae responded, as she tied two sections of Sansa's braid together, "I care about you, m'lady.'

"I was thinking of… home" Sansa said so quietly she wasn't sure if Shae had even heard. Her handmaiden was silent for a few moments as she worked.

"Do you… do you ever think of home, Shae?" Sansa wondered aloud.

Shae stopped braiding, her dark eyes hardening for a moment before she replied.

"No, m'lady"

"But King's Landing isn't your home, is it?"

"No"

Sansa stumbled with her words, "I… I wonder if anyone feels as though King's Landing is home. Perhaps Lord Tyrion…" Sansa thought she saw a flash of bitterness across Shae's face, but she insisted her eyes were playing tricks on her. There was something different about Shae. Her other handmaidens were always so cautious in her presence, but not Shae; Shae was always so bold. Again, they resumed their silence as her handmaiden fastened the last of the braids elaborately on Sansa's head. Glancing in the mirror once more, Sansa was startled at how much older the hairstyle made her seem. It would be hard to believe she was only of ten and five years.

Shae left Sansa's chambers and returned several minutes later carrying an assortment of dresses. Eventually, they decided on a deep blue gown, that Shae insisted perfectly matched Sansa's eyes. Once she was dressed, several other servants brought fruit and cheese in for her to break her fast. But Sansa was too full of worry about the tourney to stomach much. She stared at her empty plate, alone once again as Shae had gone to run an errand. Sansa tentatively took a sip of wine from her goblet, and cringed at the sickly taste. Septa Mordane had always told her that it would be a wife's duty to drink wine on important occasions, and that she'd grow used to the taste, but Sansa still doubted her words. _Still,_ she thought, _Perhaps the wine will help today if I am approached by Joffrey. _

Sansa spent the rest of the morning reading and watching the ships go by outside. As her eyes followed the vessels in the bay, she thought of the promises of Ser Dontos, and his vows to help her escape. Would that be her on a ship, one day soon? Sansa tried to imagine herself sailing away from this horrid place, away from Joffrey, and Cersei, the goldcloaks and Ser Ilyn Pane; back to Winterfell. She would be away from Tyrion, too. Would their marriage still be intact if she fled from King's Landing? Would she miss him at all? _He has been kind to you, _Sansa told herself. He had not forced her to consummate their marriage; he had not treated her harshly. No, he was not the knight that she had spent her childhood dreaming of, he was not even a knight at all, but Sansa knew he could be far worse. _He is not the worst Lannister... B_ut then Cersei had once been kind to her; Cersei had once looked upon her as a daughter. Sansa knew now that she ought not to trust a Lannister, no matter how kind they were. _He is not the worst Lannister, _she repeated to herself, _but he is a Lannister nonetheless. _And besides, she did not think he would miss her presence in King's Landing if she escaped. He had wanted their marriage as little as she did.

* * *

The morning was drifting into the afternoon when Sansa was greeted by another knock at her door. The knock was slower this time, as if more hesitant, and Sansa said nothing.

After a few moments, the voice of her Lord husband called out to her, "Lady Sansa?"

Sansa's stomach clenched, and she wished the room would swallow her up. She had been trying her hardest to avoid Joffrey's company for several weeks, and now she was faced with the prospect of an afternoon in his presence.

Sansa forced herself from her seat and opened the door for her husband. Tyrion looked up at her with a surprised expression as he entered the room.

"Lady Sansa" He said, almost cautiously, "You look very beautiful today."

Sansa nodded politely, "Thank you, my-"She stopped herself, remembering how he had wanted her to call him by his name, "-Tyrion, it pleases me that you think so."

Tyrion's strange face etched into a frown, his brow furrowing. "You don't have to say that, Sansa. You do not need to please me. But I trust the day has found you well?"

"It has" Sansa said, though she knew that was a lie. "I read a little."

"Ah, reading. One of my favorite pastimes. It is a pity that we must attend this dreaded tourney for my nephew, as I would much prefer sitting indoors with a good book."

Sansa offered her husband a small smile, not quite knowing what else to say to him. It made her feel a certain amount of relief though that he was also dreading an afternoon in the company of Joffrey.

"Come, my lady" He said, offering her a blunted hand, "We best get this over with."

Sansa took his hand, and found it to be surprisingly soft. _It is only one afternoon_, Sansa told herself as her lord husband followed her out of their chambers and into the halls of King's Landing.

* * *

**Tyrion**

Tyrion Lannister was uncomfortably aware of his small stature as he walked side by side with his young bride. Sansa was almost a foot taller than him, and he cursed himself for not being able to walk arm in arm with her as a man and wife ought to. Behind them, Tyrion's squire Podrick ambled slowly along. Upon seeing Sansa, Pod had blushed a Lannister red and had averted his gaze awkwardly. Tyrion wondered how a boy so well-endowed could be so fumbling around women. The streets of King's Landing were bustling with people preparing for the Tourney, and Tyrion tried his best to steer his lady wife around the lords and common folk alike who had gathered to watch the jousting. He had not been lying to Sansa when he had said he would have preferred to be shut up in their chambers with a book; the thought of sitting for hours in the heat near his uncontrollable nephew was incredibly painful.

Tyrion's legs were aching by the time he, Sansa and Podrick reached the square that had been cleared for the tourney. Tyrion dismissed his squire, and turned to face his young wife. Sansa's expression was unreadable as her eyes followed the scene laid out in front of them: various knights from the lowest to highest of noble families were scrambling around, clad in the colors and sigils of their houses; servants carried various platters of multiple courses of rich foods, and a group of the King's fools were clustered at the corner of the green.

Seating had been set up for a large crowd, centered around a grand tent where Joffrey sat. Tyrion's gaze landed on his nephew. Joffrey was clad in the royal colors of House Baratheon; he wore a doublet of a deep yellow color, with a black stag crest on the breast pocket. His hair shone like the rays of the sun, and Tyrion couldn't help but think that he looked incredibly like his own brother, Jaime, had at the same age. Joffrey's eyes were surveying the crowd, as if he were looking for someone to torment. Tyrion could only pray to the gods that it was not Sansa Stark. _The poor girl has certainly endured enough_, Tyrion told himself, as if that would somehow stop his nephew's behavior. Tyrion suppressed a groan. He had never been one to enjoy tournaments, and he knew he would enjoy one less in the company of his nephew.

"Shall we be seated, my lady?" Tyrion asked his wife, though he knew they had little other choice.

"Of course, my lord" Sansa responded dutifully.

_What a cheerful pair we are. _Tyrion led Sansa to the canopy where members of Houses Baratheon and Lannister had been seated. Tactfully, he chose the seats the furthest possible distance away from both Joffrey and Cersei. He knew the least contact he came into with his older sister, the easier the afternoon would be. Cersei was sitting by her son's side, she wore a necklace of rubies around her neck, and she had dressed in a blood red gown. His sister looked hauntingly pale in the midday light.

They were seated facing the green, a great narrow table running in front of them. The table had been covered in a silk cloth, and silver platters had been placed in front of each seat. Tyrion was miserable to find that his goblet was empty. He only hoped the servants would bring out the wine soon._ I'm going to need it, _Tyrion muttered to himself.

Turning his fork in his hand impatiently, Tyrion turned his head to look at his lady wife. Sansa Stark had her eyes trained on her lap, as though she had become remarkably interested in the fabric of her dress. He wasn't sure if he should make a joke, or a complaint about Joffrey, or offer her a comforting smile. Whenever he was around her, he felt unbearably powerless. He never felt like a Lannister amongst his own family, yet when he was with Sansa he could not escape his name.

* * *

**Sansa**

"Just give me a sign, and I will find a way to excuse us. You have my word, Sansa." Tyrion promised her. Yet Sansa Stark found herself shaking her head in defiance. _No_, she told herself, _You are a Stark, you will not give up. _Sansa was not a child; Joffrey had not approached her yet, she could not let herself give in. Instead, she let her eyes rest firmly on the knights in front of the crowd. She could see no Stark men today, she was the only northerner in sight.

The jousting seemed to last for an eternity. One by one, young and elderly knights alike fell at the hand of Ser Gregor Clegane, much like they had at the first tournament Sansa had attended with her father. Ser Gregor was a monstrous man, far larger than any Sansa had ever seen, and even larger than his brother, the Hound. Sansa was used to the clash of metal on metal; she had grown up hearing men practicing in the yards at Winterfell every day, yet something about the way Ser Gregor fought made her uneasy. It was almost as though he enjoyed taking the lives of others.

It was late into the afternoon by the time the last few men were standing. Sansa's stomach ached as servants laid out the fifteenth course of the day. There were platters and platters of rich, creamy desserts; treacle sponges; exotic-looking cheeses with crackers; bowls full of fruit. Closest to her were two trays of lemon cakes. Sansa had always loved lemon cakes. The ones in front of her now were sweet and soft and dusted with white sugar, and they looked so like the ones from Winterfell. She could remember a time when she had been sent to her room without supper, scolded for something silly Arya had done, and Robb had knocked on her door with a plate full of lemon cakes. It made her heart ache to think of Robb now. And Arya. Sansa was still staring at the dessert trays when she heard Joffrey's voice.

"Uncle" he called, loud enough for those on the table and several clusters of the common people still watching the tourney to hear.

Beside her, Tyrion dropped his fork and looked up at his nephew silently.

"Uncle" Joffrey repeated, "This tournament has been awfully predictable. Perhaps you should compete, as it seems we are lacking in Lannister men."

"Joffrey," Came Cersei's voice from her son's side, "That would be cruel… like throwing a child into a dragon's lair."

"Silence, mother" Joffrey snapped, his icy eyes reaching Sansa, "I doubt the imp has feelings"

Joffrey's comment was met with a roar of laughter from the noble men and women and the common folk alike. Sansa was no fool, she knew it was the duty of the common people and those of the lower court to laugh at the King's jokes, but others didn't have to. Though Cersei hovered behind her son, Sansa could see her lips had formed into a tight, amused smile. The knights of the kingsguard, who were stationed beside the royal tent, wore grins across their faces.

_They're laughing at him. Look at them, _she commanded herself, her gaze sweeping over the crowds, _they despise him._

Without thinking twice, Sansa slowly set down her cutlery and moved her hand until it hovered over Tyrion's smaller one. She set her hand on his and gripped it gently, the only sign of support she could think of showing. The sun's light was fading from the sky and the great torches had not yet been lit, and Sansa was unsure if anyone could see the small display of unity, but she didn't think she cared anymore.

Joffrey was decidedly relentless in his perusal of evening entertainment. He ignored the trays of desserts at the table, and stood up from his chair. The crowd was silent as Joffrey clapped his hands, gesturing for his squires.

"Fetch my uncle's armor."

Sansa could not believe her eyes as Joffrey's servants hurried off to do his bidding. _Surely they'll kill him? _The scene played out in her head and Sansa could almost see the blood splattering over the already stained ground. Ser Gregor was relentless with most men-Tyrion stood no chance.

The crowd went wild whilst Ser Gregor's lance pummeled into a young knight from House Wyl's steed. The boy went flying from the horse and slamming into the ground. Sansa winced as she heard the unmistakable sound of several of his bones breaking. This seemed to distract Joffrey, as he cheered loudly for Ser Gregor.

Beside her, Tyrion said nothing. Her lord husband had been silent for most of the tourney, and had said very little to anyone. Instead, he stared blankly at his silver goblet, stopping only to drink the sweet wine whenever the servants refilled it. Yet, she could feel the anger in her husband's silence,_ perhaps he has given up._ She looked desperately around her, hoping to find some way to leave.

Sansa's eyes found the platter of lemon cakes. Her stomach was heaving, yet she reached out to the plate and hurriedly stuffed a small cake in her mouth in the most lady-like manor she could manage. When she was done, she ate another, and another, and another until she was sure she would be sick.

"My lord" Sansa said, in a voice that required all the strength she could find. She gripped her husband's arm, "I think we need to leave, I feel quite ill."

* * *

**Sansa**

The light of the moon shone through the shutters of her bedchambers as one of Sansa's handmaidens undressed her for bed. Truthfully, she would have preferred the company of Shae, but she was too tired to protest. Tyrion had said little to her since they returned to their shared room, and Sansa supposed he had sought solitude in his solar.

Slipping into her shift, Sansa heaved a sigh of relief at the freedom of the loose, flowing fabric. The blue gown, as pretty as it had been, had made her body ache terribly. She dismissed her handmaiden and climbed into the refuge of her bed. Her eyes were beginning to flutter closed when the chamber door opened and footsteps filled the quiet room.

"Sansa?" Came her lord husband's voice,

Sansa sighed and sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, "Yes, my lord?"

Tyrion shut the oaken door behind him and offered her a small smile. He looked shattered- his doublet was messy and his golden hair disheveled.

"Sansa," he came closer and pulled himself up onto the bed. "Sansa, you didn't have to do what you did this evening."

Sansa's brain instinctively told her to pull away at his foreign closeness, yet something in his words made her still.

"No" She said quietly, "I didn't, but I wanted to."

Tyrion's mismatched eyes seemed to soften at her words. This time, it was him who reached out for her hand. His blunted fingers brushed over her long ones, and Sansa did not flinch.

"Thank you, my lady."

Sansa said nothing, and she did not even remove her hand when he retreated and she heard the sound of his feet padding to the other side of the room. Pulling the covers around her, Sansa closed her eyes tightly. The bed dipped slightly a few moments later as her husband climbed into the bed beside her.

"Goodnight, Sansa."

"Goodnight, Tyrion."

_He may be a Lannister, _she thought, _but they despise him almost as much as they despise me, perhaps even more. _She did not take comfort in that, but it had somehow changed things between them.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So originally I planned for this to a be one shot, however something in me couldn't resist writing Sansa x Tyrion, so here we are with another chapter! I'm really not sure about how this has gone, and I was worried about the interactions between some of the characters (I also feel like maybe the situation a bit unrealistic...)so please let me know if you have any tips to improve or whatever. Thank you so much to those who reviewed the last chapter, I really appreciate it! Just to say that that the one shots will be based mainly from the content of the show. I've just started a Clash of Kings, so I'm yet to encounter any interactions between Sansa and Tyrion in book cannon (i'm excited to though!) sorry this was a super long note, thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**__ I own nothing associated with Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire_

* * *

**Sansa**

"By the gods, I am sick of this cursed city" Her husband announced angrily one evening as they supped together.

Tyrion had been silent since he returned to their chambers, but he had worn an expression of great annoyance since his arrival. Sansa, not quite sure what was an appropriate response to her husband's frustration, awkwardly set down her cutlery and looked up at him.

"What… what is it, my lord?" She asked quietly,

"Only my sweet sister; her ungodly son; this cursed royal wedding and the members of that sorry excuse of a small council. Sometimes I wish that the Targaryen girl's dragons would fry them all, then perhaps I might get a good night's sleep." Tyrion said exasperatedly as he stabbed bitterly at sausage with his fork. As if to irritate him further, the sausage leapt from the plate and landed on the chamber floor.

"I-I'm sorry that they are causing you grief"

Tyrion sighed as he bent over to pick up the fallen sausage.

"Do not apologize, Sansa. The matters of the court are hardly your fault. I-", her husband offered her a ghost of a smile; "I did not need to take out my anger on you, my lady."

They resumed their silence, as was their custom, whilst servants came and went bringing course after course. Sansa found that she was not hungry at all, so she nibbled at many of the dishes, and did not touch others. Even the foods she had loved the most back at Winterfell had turned sour in her mouth. Sansa found herself longing for a helping of her old cook's chicken stew, and the hearty vegetables of the north. Tyrion on the other hand ate almost as much as he drank – pies, salted meat, cold bread, he consumed it all. Sansa occasionally stole glances at her husband as he poured himself flagons of the sweetest wines the castle had to offer. She found herself wondering what made him drink so much. In spite of the silence, however, of late Sansa had realized that she felt less wary in Tyrion's presence; less watched; less uncomfortable. She could not say that she enjoyed sharing his bed and calling herself his wife, far from it, but she did not cringe or flinch each time he looked at her now. In the brief moments they spent together, he often pressed his hand to hers, or offered her his smiles. His touch, though still alien, did not disgust her as much as it once had. _Remember how they hate him too,_ she regularly reminded herself. It was somewhat consoling to know she was not the only disgraced one; the only one who wished they were somewhere else.

The serving girls cleared away their final course as the last rays of sunlight vanished from the sky. The sun was far brighter and far more present in the south than it had ever been in Winterfell. She still found it strange that she could clearly see the ships sailing in the harbor without candlelight during the final hours of the day. Two of her handmaidens, a girl barely older than Sansa with hair the color of straw and grey eyes, and a young girl she remembered was called Rose, entered their chamber as the other servants left. Sansa was surprised, however, when Tyrion addressed them.

"Would you come back later?" He asked, his words only slightly slurred under the effect of the wine, "I would speak with my lady wife."

Obediently, the two girls curtsied and gave muttered "yes m'lord"s as they left as quickly as they had entered. Sansa looked up at her husband, confused.

"You need not look so alarmed, my lady. I have just been thinking, which is not a good thing given my state of intoxication. Nevertheless, I was thinking that… we could…" he began, "After Joffrey's wedding, we could… we could go to the Rock."

Sansa sat silently, her eyes resting firmly on her empty plate. It was almost as though she was not quite hearing the words that tumbled from his mouth.

But Tyrion continued. "We could go to Casterly Rock… I know, I know that it's no Winterfell. But the Rock is no King's Landing either. It was my childhood home, a beautiful place. I think… I think that you would like it there, Sansa. And I, I've had quite enough of this city to last me a lifetime."

Sansa barely heard him speak her name. _He wants to take me away from King's Landing,_ she realized. Wasn't that what Ser Dontos had promised, too? What her Florian had promised. Yet Sansa felt something inside her stirring. Would Ser Dontos stay true to his word, drunken fool that he was?

"It is truly beautiful, Sansa. On some mornings one can see for miles out over the vast ocean. I did not enjoy much of my boyhood, but there was nothing quite like the sunsets at Casterly Rock. And the cooks make the most marvelous pigeon pies; the sort that leave you stuffed full for hours." He offered her a small smile, "Of course… that is no matter to you, my lady, I'm sure. Tell me Sansa, would you like to leave King's Landing? I can speak with my father of the matter."

Sansa could not bring herself to say a thing, her mind was far away. She tried to imagine herself strolling through the gardens of Casterly Rock; walking the halls of the castle. Would she finally be safe there? She thought of Ser Dontos' promises again. _He wanted to help me escape,_ she told herself, _but where would he take me?_ She wanted home, yet she knew that Winterfell lay in ruins, a ghost of the city it once was. _How do I know that he will not simply hand me over to someone like a package?…_ She shivered at the thought of it. Sansa's eyes left her lap as she looked up at her Lord husband. He peered at her expectantly and wore an expression of concern. _You would be away from Joffrey, away from Cersei, look at him…he wants to help you._

"Lady Sansa?" Tyrion spoke gently, as though he were frightened of pressuring her.

"I…" _Of course you want to be away from here,_ "Yes, I would… I would like to leave King's Landing. I would like that very much, my-Tyrion."

A small smile formed on his lips, and Sansa almost forgot how peculiar he looked. Somehow he did not look so terrible as he had when she had first laid eyes on him.

"Well, I had best speak to my Lord Father on the morrow." He said, rising from his seat, "No doubt he will have a thousand complaints to counter my proposal. For now, however, I shall leave you to your peace."

Sansa stood too, and watched her husband as he awkwardly walked away. She did not know whether Tywin Lannister would accept Tyrion's plans, and she wasn't sure whether or not she wanted him to. Though she tried to push the thoughts from her mind, she could not. Sansa's handmaidens returned to help her dress for sleeping; the gown that Cersei had had made for her was fiddly and difficult to remove. Sansa slipped into her nightgown and bade her servant's goodnight. As she climbed into bed, Ser Dontos entered her mind again. No doubt he would warn her against Tyrion's plans to leave for the Rock, as he had done when she had told him of Highgarden and the Tyrells. _Does he truly want me to escape?_ She wondered as she stared up at the mahogany canopy of her large bed. _If he did, why did he not want me to go to Highgarden?_ The uncertainty of Ser Dontos' plans gave her a strange feeling in her stomach. _Will he truly help me?_ Casterly Rock seemed so tangible, so real. If Tywin Lannister were to agree, she could leave Joffrey and Cersei and Ser Boros, all those that had hurt her, in a matter of weeks. _I would still be with him,_ Sansa realized. Was that so terrible a fate? He had done nothing so far to let her down. _Let him help you._ Sansa turned in her sheets, becoming aware of the uncomfortable heat of the autumn evening. After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, she drifted off into sleep. Sansa dreamt of Casterly Rock, and it's beautiful red skies; she dreamt of the mountainous cliff face, and the sound of gulls along the shore; she dreamt of the vast library Septa Mordane had once said the Lannister's had; she dreamt of Tyrion, and she dreamt of being away from King's Landing.

* * *

**Sansa**

The next morning, Sansa woke to find her husband sleeping beside her. Tyrion's small frame was stretched out over the other side of the mattress, and his small snores filled their otherwise silent chambers. She watched him for a moment, curiously peering at the way his chest steadily rose and fell. He was so small it reminded her of when she and Arya had shared a bed. It had only been on rare occasions, and when they were very young, but Sansa could remember several chilly nights when Arya had snuck into the warmth of her bed covers, and pressed her cold body into Sansa's. She had never been close to her sister, but it made her sad to think of the few times they had been happy together. _If only we had not quarreled so much, _Sansa thought bitterly as the sinking feeling returned to her chest. She might never see Arya again… the Queen had said she was long dead. _If she is alive, I hope she is somewhere far away from this horrid place, as I may be soon._

Sansa's stomach growled as if to protest the lack of food she had eaten the previous night. She pushed back the covers slowly and carefully in order to avoid waking Tyrion. As her bare feet touched the cold floor and she turned, she saw that her husband's eyes were open and were following her movements.

"Oh" She said, surprised, a blush creeping over her face at the realization she was still in her nightgown, "I did not think you were awake, my lord."

Tyrion smiled, "Good morning Sansa. I'm afraid I've been awake a while, I seldom sleep more than three or four hours of late."

_He looks sad,_ Sansa thought. Did he have nightmares too? Did the horrors he had seen keep him awake at night, as they kept her? Septa Mordane said that a dutiful wife comforts her husband in his times of need, yet she could not.

"I… I understand" Sansa admitted, returning his smile.

Tyrion looked as though he wanted to say something else, his scarred mouth opening slightly, but he did not reply. Sansa wanted to say something comforting, to say anything, he had promised to take her away from King's Landing, after all. But she could not bring herself to discuss his grief yet when she was so full of her own. For now she hoped that a smile was enough comfort. Tyrion left to go about his daily routine whilst Sansa's handmaidens helped her dress in a light green dress that had been one of her favorites back at Winterfell. As Sansa peered in her looking glass, she was surprised to realize how closely she resembled her lady mother. _Who I will never see again…_

After Sansa had broken her fast on bread and grapes, Shae came into her chamber carrying a message. "It's from Lady Margaery Tyrell" her handmaiden told her, "She requests that you meet her in her chambers."

Sansa felt her heart pound. Margaery. The Tyrell girl had always been kind to her since her arrival in King's Landing. But in truth the thought of seeing Margaery now filled her with sadness, as she thought of her life in Highgarden that never was. Sansa wondered what Margaery would think of Tyrion's plans to take her to Casterly Rock.

"Would you like me to accompany you, my lady?" Shae's voice interrupted her thoughts.

Sansa was about to protest, when the thought of running into Joff in the maze of hallways struck her. She did not think Shae would stop the boy King's relentless attacks, but it might prevent him from taking her maidenhead there and then. She thought of Joffrey's words after her wedding ceremony, "_My uncle will bring you to bed whenever I command it."_ His words sent familiar shivers down her spine. _No_, she told herself, _Tyrion would not allow it, _though Sansa wasn't quite sure she believed her own words.

"Yes" She said finally, looking up at Shae, "You may accompany me."

Shae took her arm and the two walked down the halls of the Red Keep together. Margaery, her father Mace Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell and the various cooks, servants, handmaidens and squires of House Tyrell had been housed at a corner of the castle not far from the Tower of the Hand. The walk was calm, and Sansa was relieved to find that Joffrey was nowhere to be seen. _No doubt he has found someone else to torture this morning,_ Sansa thought. Of late Joffrey had grown restless in anticipation of his marriage, it seemed he could only be calmed in the presence of his bride to be. She wondered how Margaery could play the game so well, whilst she had failed so miserably.

When they reached the Tyrell's rooms, Sansa was surprised to find that Margaery herself answered the knock at the door. "Hello sweet Sansa" Margaery said, smiling as she greeted her, her voice like flowing honey. She took Sansa's arm eagerly and shut the oaken door behind her. Margaery was dressed in the green and yellow of house Tyrell. The gown was low-cut, and embroidered with hundreds of golden roses. "I apologize that it took me so long to send you a message, the King has commanded my presence a great deal lately."

"I understand, your grace"

"Margaery" Margaery insisted, giving Sansa another of her large smiles. "I've told you before, my sweetling, you have no need for such courtesies around me. Come, let us walk together."

Sansa nodded a goodbye to Shae, giving her leave to return to her duties. Shae's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Sansa gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Shae had become increasingly protective of her of late, which she found oddly comforting; she was always reluctant to leave Sansa out of her sight.

As they reached the courtyard, Margaery stopped and turned to face Sansa. "How are you feeling, Sansa?" She asked.

"How am I feeling?" Sansa replied, her mouth hanging open a little, "I… I am well, thank you."

Margaery frowned, "And your lord husband, has he-"

Sansa anticipated the question before Margaery could continue. "No" She said, blushing beet red, "No… he, he has not pushed me."

It was hard to tell whether or not Margaery was surprised, her expression was unreadable. She smiled again, her eyes never leaving Sansa's. "And he still treats you kindly?"

"Yes, he… he is kind." _Is this what she wants me to say? Or is it truly what I think?_ "He has tried to comfort me," Sansa admitted, "I,… he…"

"What is it, sweetling? You know that you can tell me anything, Sansa" Margaery had gripped her arm now, her touch light as summer rain. Sansa did not pull away; Margaery had always been kind to her.

"He said-" She found herself stuttering again, "He said that we might go away to Casterly Rock. It, it would be after you marry Joffrey. We would leave King's Landing in a matter of weeks. I do not know how to feel."

Margaery's eyes softened. "Come and sit with me, Sansa" she said, gesturing Sansa to follow her as she sat on the low stone wall that bordered the garden path. Sansa did as she was told and sat beside the older girl. Margaery lent in closer to her, as though she were about to share a deadly secret.

"You want to leave King's Landing, do you not?"

"Yes…" Sansa hardly dared to whisper, and her voice caught in her throat. _Even the flowers have ears, _she reminded herself. Sansa knew that nothing stayed secret for long in King's Landing, even that which was said to Margaery Tyrell. "I want to leave Joffrey" She choked.

Margaery nodded as though she needed no other explanation. Sansa did not realize that her eyes were brimming with tears until one landed on her hands, which were resting in her lap. In an instant Margaery was reaching out, the pad of her thumb catching a second tear that threatened to leap from Sansa's eyes.

"Do not cry, my sweet one" She murmured, "You will be safe at Casterly Rock. Lord Tyrion will keep you safe on the journey and atop the mountainous fortress – he is a good man, and I assure you that he cares for you deeply."

_She is right; he has given me no reason to doubt that._ In truth it was not the thought of the Rock that frightened her so, and she had not even considered the perils of their impending journey.

"And what if Joffrey… what if he will not allow it?" Sansa's tummy did somersaults at the thought of his violent outbursts. What if he were to beat her again, or to take his anger out on Margaery, who had done nothing? _No,_ she told herself, _do not let him frighten you, you must be as brave as Robb was; as brave as your mother was._ Besides, hadn't Tyrion said it was Lord Tywin Lannister who would decide her fate, not Joffrey?

"He will cause you no harm. Your husband has a way with words, he will convince Joffrey, do not fret." Margaery squeezed Sansa's shoulder softly. _If only Margaery could accompany us, _she thought. She had grown to enjoy the company of the ladies of Highgarden, and she would miss Margaery's comforting words. Yet she knew that she had to leave King's Landing, and sooner rather than later. Tyrion had promised he would keep her safe, _I must believe him._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello everyone! Thank you for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. I realize that in the show, Ser Dontos does not actually approach Sansa in the godswood until Season 4, however I wanted to push their interaction forward as in the books. I also realize that Tyrion actually asks Sansa about going to the Rock in _A Storm of Swords,_ however I wanted to alter Sansa's response to his plans – I hope her reaction isn't too strange or unexpected. I also hope Sansa's desire to comfort Tyrion wasn't too out of character. I've always seen her as very compassionate, despite the adversities she's faced. I can definitely imagine her seeing him as someone she can connect with in that way, at least if their relationship progressed. Fingers crossed I will be able to update more frequently during June, as I have finished school (graduation is tomorrow, yay!) and shall have more free time. As always, please let me know if you have any notes or suggestions or thoughts on this chapter (I'm not entirely happy with it but that's okay).


	4. Chapter 4

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not own anything associated with Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. I am also not George R. R. Martin otherwise I would have not killed off Ygritte._

_It's not the sky I'm asking for_

_I'm just having trouble finding north_

_I've gone as far as I can go_

_Trying to find something that feels like home – _The Civil Wars, Finding North

* * *

**Sansa**

Sansa Stark notices small details about her husband. She notices the fact that he likes different wines on different days of the week; she notices that he tosses and turns a lot in his sleep; she notices that he doesn't trust their servants, and she notices that he glances at her when she thinks she isn't looking. They had planned to take their supper outside together that night, but Sansa had found herself sitting alone on their balcony looking over the sea. The sky over King's Landing was a bruised pink that reminded her of grapefruit.

She waited for Tyrion, trying to ignore her growling belly and the vast platters of food that were prepared for them. It was so peaceful and the food smelled so sweet that if she closed her eyes, she could almost forget where she was and who she was surrounded by. _Never forget where you are, and what you are,_ she scolded herself.

The pink sky was fading into a velvet blue when Podrick Payne arrived. Sansa had tried so hard to stay awake, yet she found herself strangely tired from the heat of the day. That morning she had practiced her sewing as usual, but she had taken the afternoon to visit the godswood. Since the death of Robb and her lady mother, Sansa had found herself at loss of what or who to pray for. When she had knelt at the hearttree as her father used to do, her mind was blank. _Safety, _she had finally decided on, _for Arya to be safe, for Jon's safety, for mine, for Winterfell…_ But Sansa wasn't so sure that the gods listened to her anymore.

Podrick Payne let out an awkward cough, as if to inform her of his presence. The boy was no older than Robb had been when she left Winterfell, yet he blushed scarlet each time he laid eyes on her. She gazed up at him, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"My lady," He stuttered, his eyes looking anywhere but her own before finally settling on the sliced ham that lay on the table. "Lord Tyrion regrets to inform you that he won't be joining you for supper tonight."

"Did he say why?" She asked politely, remembering her courtesies.

"No my lady, he only said that he was truly sorry."

Her servants came to clear away Tyrion's place; his knife; his fork and his goblet. Sansa picked at the lemon cakes on her plate as she stared out over the bay, paying the serving girls no mind. At the squire's words Sansa nodded, bidding him leave to go. Podrick Payne tripped slightly as he bowed, before hastily retreating from the balcony, leaving Sansa alone again. Looking at the star filled sky, she wondered why she felt so disappointed by the news he had brought.

* * *

**Tyrion**

Cersei had asked for their company at breakfast the next morning. _A family affair, _she had said at the meeting of the Small Council the previous evening, whilst she wore one of her false smiles. _No doubt she means to use this as an opportunity to dampen the spirits of us all. _Tyrion felt guilty enough that he had left Sansa to dine alone last night, and inflicting the company of Cersei and Joffrey upon her seemed like a terrible way to make up for it. But he was quick to chastise himself for his thoughts, _why would she miss your company, dwarf?_

He dressed and readied himself whilst Sansa slept. Her bright auburn hair shone in the morning sunlight and fell across her sleeping form like a wolf's coat. In spite of himself, he couldn't help but notice how peaceful she looked whilst she slept. He wondered what she dreamt of – he hoped her dreams provided her with the solace she could not have in the hours she was awake. Part of him wanted to climb beside her in the bed and wrap her in his arms, yet he knew she would recoil at his touch like a mouse hurried from a snake, _like the prey of a lion. _Instead he waited for her to wake in her own time, occupying himself with a cup of wine and a letter he had been meaning to write to Varys.

At the sound of the scratching of his quill pen against parchment, however, Sansa woke. Her eyes were wide and full of surprise at the sight of him across the room.

"Good morning, my lord" She murmured, hurrying to wrap the covers protectively around her body.

He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though he doubted that his scarred face ever provided reassurance to anyone, least of all his wife. "Good morning, Sansa. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

…

They were the last to arrive around the table that morning. Tyrion had left Sansa in the company of her handmaidens so she could wash and dress in privacy. He had tried to avert his gaze when he saw his wife that morning – Sansa looked beautiful. The gown she wore fit her wonderfully, the material accentuating her womanly curves and the changes her body had undergone since he had first seen her at Winterfell. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders, and Tyrion wondered how it might be to feel its softness against his skin. _Enough,_ he reprimanded himself, painfully aware of the effect Sansa had on him. He had told her she looked exquisite, and she had blushed, but Tyrion was sure it was out of courtesy more than appreciation. As they walked together to the king's private chambers, Tyrion wished more than ever that he was not so painfully short. If he could just be the same height as Sansa, perhaps he could have whispered reassuring words in her ear; perhaps he would not have felt so guilty for inflicting his company upon her.

Pod, ever the dutiful squire, opened the heavy doors for Sansa and Tyrion to walk through. At each side of the entrance, two guards dressed in Lannister red stood, anonymous under their helms. _Cersei's men, no doubt. _He wondered if his sister had become so paranoid that she feared he might try to attack her whilst they dined on fruits and bread.

His sister sat beside Joff, her golden hair shining in the morning light. She would look beautiful, he thought, if her lips were not permanently twisted into a scowl. To Joffrey's right was his bride-to-be, Margaery Tyrell, a bright young girl who seemed to have a smile perpetually plastered across her face.

"How nice for you to join us, Uncle." Joffrey announced, though his tone suggested entirely the opposite.

"The pleasure is all mine."

Across the table were Ser Loras, the youngest son of Mace Tyrell, and Ser Lancel Lannister, Cersei's favorite plaything in Jaime's absence. Tyrion heaved an inward sigh of relief when he noted that the empty seats at the table were those furthest from his nephew and his sister. He led Sansa, wishing as they sat down that he could pull out his wife's chair for her as a husband ought to. _She deserves better than this, _he thought resentfully.

Joffrey's eyes landed on Sansa, and a cruel smirk spread across his face.

"Lady Sansa," He jested, picking up a grape from his plate and popping it into his mouth. "I trust you've heard the wonderful news about your traitor brother. I meant to tell you myself, but I'm afraid my royal duties leave me little time for idle chat with those such as yourself."

_Of course she's heard, you little shit._

Tyrion felt the anger rising in his chest, and his small hands curled into fists against the table. Beside him, Sansa's face is as blank as unused parchment.

"That is a shame, your grace." She responded, her words empty and hollow. One glance at his nephew and Tyrion could see Joffrey was less than pleased.

"Perhaps when my bannermen return with your traitor brother's head, I'll give it to you as a gift. Would you like that, Sansa?"

"Whatever pleases you, your grace."

_She is so strong,_ Tyrion wondered how he hadn't seen it before. He could barely contain his own outrage and irritation, each word Joffrey said made him want to hurl all he could at his brat of a nephew. Yet Sansa sat, poised and devoid of all emotion in the face of her tormentor. He could have kissed her then for that, and for all her strength. It was clear to him then that Sansa had survived on her courtesies. She knew how to be the lady like he knew how to be witty and clever.

"You look pale, little bird." Cersei said as she turned to Sansa. Her eyes were cold and unyielding.

"You must be blind, sweet sister" Tyrion cut in tartly, "My lady wife looks radiant."

Cersei shot daggers at him. He was used to Cersei's stares – since he was a young boy, he could recall the way she stared at him when he spoke as if he were a piece of shit brought in from the streets of Lannisport.

"I quite agree" Margaery said, graceful as ever, before turning to Joffrey. "Won't you tell me another of your stories from the Battle of Blackwater?" She asked, "I've heard you were wonderfully brave."

He could have laughed then – the reality of Joffrey's cowardice that night as Stannis stormed the castle swimming into his mind -but he thought the better of it. He decided it was best to keep quiet, in the hope that he could make the company of his family at least a little more comfortable for Sansa. Instead, Tyrion occupied himself drinking the wine servants had poured into his cup. To Tyrion's relief, Margaery kept Joffrey at bay for most of the breakfast. He was immensely grateful for the presence of the Tyrell girl, whose words were honeyed enough to both appease his nephew and irritate Cersei beyond belief. As they finished and servants began to clear emptied plates away, the conversation turned to the topic of the upcoming royal wedding.

"Lady Margaery," Cersei said, throwing one of her sweet smiles at the Tyrell girl, "Why don't you tell us more of your excitement for the wedding. Surely you received the gown I had made for you?"

"Of course, your grace. I can scarce wait to be wed to my beloved, my tummy flutters just thinking of the ceremony. All that food, the entertainment, the pigeon pie – I'm overwhelmed with excitement." Margaery shot a smile back at Cersei, equally false and no less threatening.

_She knows how to play my sister well._

Cersei looked less than satisfied with the response. She leaned back in her seat, mouth twisting into a bitter smirk, "Aren't we all."

"I'm sure you will look beautiful, Lady Margaery," Joffrey added, placing his wormy hand atop of hers on the table. Margaery blushed, and Tyrion swore he could see his sister's eyes rolling to the ceiling. His sister's disapproval of her son's marriage was so palpable. _She would have preferred he stay betrothed to Sansa, who she could have wrapped around her little finger. _

"And you, Sansa, I trust you are excited for the wedding?" Cersei said, glaring at the girl, "Though you must regret that you are not in Lady Margaery's place."

Sansa set down her fork, which had been scooping aimlessly at the scrambled eggs on her plate. "It is kind of you to think of me, your grace. But I am a traitor; my family were traitors, expecting to marry a king as fine as Joffrey would be unreasonable. I am more than honored to be married to Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion snorted into his goblet as he tried to suppress his laughter. The idea that it would be an honor to marry him was so ridiculous; so hilarious that he almost wished he had not looked down so he could have seen the seething look on his sister's face. But Sansa's lies had come so easily that he could not stop himself from reaching for her hand that rested on her lap under the table and giving it a reassuring squeeze. _Thank you for doing this, _he hoped it said.

Across the table Joffrey scoffed but said nothing. Tyrion and Sansa said their goodbyes as the breakfast came to an end. They walked from the room together, and Tyrion felt safe in the knowledge that they had left his sister thoroughly dissatisfied.

"Congratulations, my dear wife," Tyrion said wearily as they walked back to their chambers together, "You just survived your first Lannister family meal." _Hopefully there are not many more to follow..._

Sansa looked at him nervously, "I'm sure I said all the wrong things."

"You were wonderful, Sansa, I could practically see my sister squirming in her seat."

Sansa smiled a little at that. _Gods, she had a beautiful smile._ Tyrion made a note to himself to try and make his lady wife smile more often. He leaned over to her then, his voice hushed in the quiet of the castle.

"I assure you, Sansa, your brother's head will not be brought to you under any circumstances. The boy can protest all he likes, but I will not allow it."

Sansa nodded in reply, and the look on her face told him that talking of her brother and mother's death pained her more than he could know. "Thank you – for your kindness."

"I am just doing what any man should do."

"No" She said, "You are being a friend."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**I'm sorry this was a relatively short chapter, but for some reason my brain only wanted to think of little Sansa/Tyrion moments. Please let me know if you have any feedback, and thank you once again for taking the time to read my story! Also, I can't believe that season 4 of Game of Thrones is almost at an end, it feels like it's gone so fast. I guess I'll have to get back to re-watching all the episodes again J


	5. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not own anything associated with Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire_

_See I left my mother's heart_

_I left my father's home_

_And I fell into a well of hope_

_I'm carrying my heart but it's made of stone – _Matt Corby, Made of Stone

* * *

**Sansa**

Sometimes Tyrion made Sansa laugh. She was never sure whether he intended to or if the dry humor just came naturally to him, but all the same she found he sometimes stole laughs from her. It was strange to laugh again, she was sure she hadn't since Joffrey had ordered her father's execution on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. When she laughed it was almost as though she were a different person, the girl she'd been before; the girl who had left Winterfell with a head full of dreams. She wasn't sure if Tyrion intended it or not, but in those moments she almost forgot who she was and where she was. Almost. That afternoon they had lunched with Joffrey and Margaery, Ser Jaime, Queen Cersei and Tywin Lannister. "A family affair" Tywin had called it when he commanded their presence. In the company of his grandfather, and no doubt in an effort to impress his bride-to-be, Joffrey had restrained himself from his usual torments, much to Sansa's relief. As was the norm in the days leading up to the Royal Wedding, talk had drifted to Joffrey and Margaery's impending day. Joffrey had insisted on feeding his future Queen sweet peaches dripped in honey, a gesture of affection toward Margaery. Sansa had tried her best to avoid watching the display, but her husband could not.

"Foul" Tyrion had muttered in a low voice so that only she could hear, "I'm not sure what I find more disturbing, his usual nature or this sort of behavior." Sansa had been taken aback by his comments, and had tried her best to conceal a smile by pressing a napkin to her face.

"I ought to be grateful it's not me the king insists on feeding fruit to." She had replied before she could stop herself. Beside her, her husband had let out a small chuckle, "That's true, Lady Sansa," he prodded the sliced peaches that lay on his own plate, "it's a shame, I was looking forward to eating these, but it seems he's ruined my appetite."

Tyrion had left her shortly after they had finished eating – something about speaking with Varys. Alone, Sansa found herself strolling to the godswood. In Winterfell, she had always visited the woods with the intention of offering a prayer to the gods. Now she found little reason to pray to them, and instead the godswood had become her own private place, a solace away from the chaos of the Red Keep.

Sansa watched the ships sailing across the bay from her seat in the woods, a habit she had found relaxed her. The sun was bright as it streamed across her face, and the air was full with the scent of pine trees and roses. She often found herself wondering what it might be like to be on a ship herself, sailing away from the city with the wind flowing through her hair. There was a tall ship sailing from the bay today, a great vessel flying the flags of House Marbrand of the Westerlands, a burning tree set on a shield of grey smoke. It gave her a fluttering feeling in her tummy, the thought of leaving Joffrey and Queen Cersei behind…

"Lady Sansa?"

She didn't recognize the voice that called her name. Turning, she saw that it belonged to a woman who stood behind her almost nervously; a woman taller than most men Sansa had seen at court (or had seen at all). She had short blonde hair cropped at her ears, and astonishingly blue eyes that matched the tunic she dressed in. Something about her looked oddly out of place here.

"Who are you?" Sansa asked, frowning. She hadn't been expecting company, only Shae knew this was her favorite spot to watch the ships in the bay, and this woman was a far cry from Shae.

"Brienne of Tarth, my lady"

Tarth? She tried to remember her lessons with Septa Mordane, but they seemed so long ago…

"What are you doing here?" She asked warily instead. The keep was full of Cersei's spies and servants, though something about Brienne made her think it was unlikely she allied herself with the Queen. Still, she knew she ought to be cautious.

"I-" The older woman seemed unsure of herself, "I served your mother, Lady Catelyn."

Sansa winced, was this some trick to test her loyalties? "My mother is dead," She said flatly. She could not think of her lady mother and Robb, or she knew her eyes would soon be brimming with tears.

"Yes, my lady, I am truly sorry for your loss," Brienne looked down at her feet, "I should have been there with her, I should have protected her when the Frey's-"

"You're a knight?" Sansa interrupted suddenly, surprised. _Arya would have liked her._

"Yes, my lady, I was sworn to your Lady mother."

"When did you meet her?"

For a moment, Brienne's blue eyes flashed with pain. "I- In truth, my lady, I met your mother whilst I was a member of Renly Baratheon's Rainbow Guard, the night he was slain…" her voice trailed off.

Renly Baratheon. Hadn't Margaery been his wife once? She could vaguely remember his face from her first weeks at King's Landing - Lord Renly had been a young man, always quick to laugh and smile. He had been killed in his own tent, she'd heard her handmaiden's whisper, though by who no one knew.

"You are the ghost of her…" Brienne's voice was soft.

Sansa felt the familiar choking feeling in her throat. _Stop it, _she scolded herself. No good would come from wallowing in her grief, _I must be as brave as my mother, as brave as my father_. Sansa straightened her back and gave Brienne what she hoped was a reassuring smile, "I… you flatter me. Why did you come to King's Landing?"

"I came with Ser Jaime Lannister, whom your brother Robb had taken prisoner. I vowed to your mother that I would exchange him for you and your sister, as your husband Lord Tyrion promised." _She wanted to take me home. _

Sansa's voice was barely a whisper, "I'm married now." _And Arya is gone, Arya is most likely dead. And Winterfell is destroyed. You came too late._

Brienne came closer then, edging her way to where Sansa sat. She regarded her sternly, her large hand curling and uncurling around the hilt of the large sword that was fastened at her belt. Sansa supposed it was some sort of nervous habit.

"Yes, my lady. That is why I want to offer you my protection now, if you should ever need it."

Sansa was surprised to see Brienne's blue eyes were full of sincerity. She wanted so badly to trust her, and yet…

Remembering her courtesies, Sansa offered her a small smile. "Thank you, Lady Brienne, for your kindness. I- I don't know what to say."

"You need not say anything, Lady Sansa, I promise to protect you whilst we both remain at King's Landing." All at once, the tall woman bent down on one knee. Sansa was startled at first, unsure what to expect. Then Brienne was removing her sword from its scabbard, and laying it at Sansa's feet.

Brienne cleared her throat, "I pledge my service to you, Lady Sansa, for as long as you remain in the city."

"You may rise, Brienne" She said softly, unsure of what it was proper for a Lady to do in such a situation. Neither her mother nor her septa had prepared her for this sort of situation. Brienne rose as bid, and sheathed her sword and place it at her side once again. She bent her legs clumsily, and bowed her head.

"I apologize, my Lady, I was never one to curtsey."

_Arya would have really liked her._

Sansa gave Brienne a curt nod, quite at loss at what to say. To have her sworn to her side would be comforting, yet what was one against the seven knights of the Kingsguard? And how could the word of a woman, albeit a large and armored woman, save her from Joff's advances?

"Do you wish me to stay, my lady?" Brienne asked. Sansa shook her head; she preferred the silence of her own company in the godswood.

_Remember your courtesies, _"I hope to see you soon, Lady Brienne." She made herself say, though in truth part of her did hope that she saw Brienne again.

The woman gave her another bow, quickly realizing that Sansa preferred to be alone. She was gone as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Sansa to watch the ships once again.

* * *

**Tyrion**

"How can you stand it?" Sansa said from across the chamber, her voice so quiet that Tyrion was sure he'd imagined it.

He turned a page of his book absently, "I assure you, Sansa, reading is not all that bad. Although to be sure there are far better works than _A history of Westerosi Finances."_

"Not that"

Tyrion's brow furrowed and he rubbed at the scars across his face. "Stand what, Lady Sansa?"

"To live without a mother"

Her words took him by such surprise that Tyrion was unsure what to say. He'd noticed Sansa's silence that evening as they supped together – she had barely touched the salt pork and green vegetables they'd been served – but he had decided not to press the issue. He closed the heavy book shut and shifted his small body so that he faced his wife.

How could he begin to answer such a question? He hadn't thought about his mother in weeks, it was strange to speak of her now. "I never knew my own mother, I'm afraid. I've heard she was the loveliest of ladies. She died… she died birthing me, I'm sure you've heard the tale. Joanna Lannister was as beautiful as my sister, and as stubborn, but with none of my sister's venom. She was loved by many, most of all by my father and Cersei." _My father and my sweet sister never cease to remind me of that. _

"I confess I wish I had known her," He admitted, "they say the best part of my father died with her; that I know to be true."

Sansa was quiet across the chambers, and Tyrion wondered if perhaps she'd fallen asleep. Several moments of silence passed.

"I hear whispers about the castle," Sansa murmured, "I try to cover my ears, but I hear them. They say the Frey's slit my mother's throat whilst she laughed madly, and the blood came rushing out like a river."

He stood then, swinging his legs from the chair in a swift motion. Sansa was turned away from him, and curled up under the bedsheets so that only wisps of her auburn hair could be seen. He wanted so badly to hold her, to slide beside her in the bed, yet he knew he would be met with refusal. This was what he'd wanted… wasn't it? For her to open up to him, and yet here he was…

"My lady," He began, "if you would like me to leave you be, I shall."

"Lady Brienne told me that I was the ghost of my mother" Sansa ignored his question, and her words came out through small sobs, "I will never see her again…"

Tyrion could take it no longer. He abandoned his book and walked slowly to the bed he shared with his wife. Slowly, hesitantly, he approached her. She sat up at his approach, and he saw for the first time that her pale face was stained with wet tears.

In an instant, he was moving closer again. "Sansa, I cannot bring your mother back to you. But I can promise that I will do all in my power to protect you," He reached his hand out to touch hers as it lay in her lap. "And I am truly sorry, for your mother-"

"I don't want your apologies" She muttered.

"I know I am your husband" He pressed on, choosing his words carefully. "But I do not ask you to regard me as such, at least not when we are alone together. I want first and foremost to be a friend, Sansa. You do not have to be afraid to let your walls down to me, my lady, whenever you have need to." There was a painful feeling in his chest, "That being said, if you do not wish to share your sorrows, then so be it. I do not want to force you into anything."

At her silence, Tyrion began to turn away. Wordlessly, Sansa reached her arm out and tugged at the sleeve of his doublet.

"Could you stay?"

He thought for a second he had heard her wrong.

"Is that truly what you wish, Sansa? I would return to my solar if you'd prefer to be alone."

She must have noticed the furrowing of his brow, "I prefer that you stay, my lord." _There is the wall of courtesy again…_

Tyrion nodded, and pushed himself up onto the bed, waiting patiently for Sansa to collect her thoughts. He lay on his side of the bed, still clad in his clothes and boots, and far enough from Sansa that he did not disturb her. He didn't want to touch her, in fear that she might slip away from him again and he would lose her forever. Instead, he blew out the candle at the bedside and set his head down upon his pillow.

Sleep was just beginning to take him when Sansa's voice broke the silence.

"Bran liked to read a lot" She said quietly into the darkness, "I think he would have liked you."

The memory of his trial by combat and Lady Catelyn's accusations of his involvement in Bran's fall flashed through his mind, but Tyrion thought it best not to mention that.

"I met Bran on my way south from the wall" He confessed, "He was a sweet boy; I helped the stable master design a saddle to suit his needs after he fell."

"That was kind of you. Bran always loved to ride." Her voice was soft, as he had noticed it always was in the brief moments she spoke of her family; of Winterfell. "He and Arya were far better at riding that I ever was. They used to sneak off together when my father and mother were busy with their duties to go riding about the town together."

Tyrion let out a low chuckle, "You didn't join them, my lady?"

"Oh no," Sansa sounded sadder now, more melancholy, "I always thought they were so silly. I wish I'd gone with them now…" her voice trailed off.

Before he could stop himself, Tyrion tentatively reached out his hand to find Sansa's under the mass of blankets. For the briefest of moments, he was sure she would pull away at his touch. She did not. Sansa's soft fingers curled around his own stubby ones.

"Goodnight Tyrion" Sansa said slowly, "thank you… for listening."

Her soft snores soon filled their chambers, and Tyrion retracted his hand from his wife's sleeping form.

"Goodnight Sansa."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello! I hope everyone is doing well. Thank you again for reading (or continuing to read) and a special thanks to all those who have reviewed, favorited or followed this story, it means so much to mean! I know that there wasn't too much direct Sansa/Tyrion interaction in this story, but I wanted to include interactions with a few other characters, too. I know Brienne doesn't canonically pledge herself to Sansa, but I liked the idea of a relationship forming between two of my favorite characters. Please let me know if you have any thoughts or advice as always.

shameless self promotion (i know, i'm terrible) but i made a sansa stark fanmix on 8 tracks, if anyone wants to listen here's the link: /holyleonardodicaprio/sansa-pitied-them-sansa-envied-them


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